holy shit

I wasn't making it up. My God. I wasn't making it up. I was right. I was right.

And now I'm sitting here crying because it is too, too perfect, and it is exactly like I dreamed it would be when I was fourteen.

Destroy the Pods Before They Destroy You

Will answer comments, and hopefully forgottensanity's e-mail, and do some other stuff later, but for now, because anjala is probably wondering whether she needs to come destroy the pods so that Real Lee can come back, and a number of the rest of you may also be wondering this but be disinclined to voice it, yes, I really did make the past couple of posts. I intended to disable comments but forgot (a phrase which sums up so much of my life), so commenting stands.

Yes, it was me, and not Evil Pod Lee. I would like to reassure everybody that I'm okay, but I'm not sure yet whether I'm okay because I don't think the little drama has played out its scene fully yet, and I don't want to say anything until I know something for sure.

Also, the past couple of weeks have been really horrific.

Also also, I promise to update about my FASCINATING venture to Bloomington last weekend (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Student Pits), but I have work to get out right now.

It's Just Like When I Was Fourteen

zyphryus asked me if the perfection was what made me cry (twice in one day, which is a red-letter occasion given that I can't even remember the last time I cried once in a day), and I think she hit the nail on the head.

There is perfection, and there is gratitude, and there is relief and joy and a certain amount of hilarity at the inept ridiculousness of the entire affair and how H and I between the two of us managed not to fuck up despite my extremely high-school handling of the situation.

And it is, sometimes, an all-right thing to be loved, if "loved" is even the word, which I had forgotten.